


Sweet with a Little Heat

by ShipArmada (SarahSelene)



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016)
Genre: Bakery AU, M/M, fluffy fluff fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-14
Updated: 2017-09-23
Packaged: 2018-11-14 05:20:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,327
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11201295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SarahSelene/pseuds/ShipArmada
Summary: Baze works in his mothers' bakery, and Chirrut's been looking for him.





	1. Chapter 1

Baze knew he shouldn’t put his head on the counter. It was a health code violation or something like that. Baze was too tired to care about things like that though. Finals week was finally over, and all Baze wanted to do was go back upstairs to his room, curl up in his bed, and sleep for the next thousand years. But of course, sleep was not meant to be. His mom needed him to work the counter of their bakery and had woken him before the sun was up, telling him that Gara had called in sick. He had tried to explain to her that he was too tired but she had not listened.

So here he was, standing behind the counter of his mothers’ bakery, listening to his mothers bicker and work in the kitchen, all while avoiding his responsibilities as tired eyes won their battle against exhaustion. Just another four hours, and then Rohsaa would be in and he could sleep again. He could make it another four hours. Probably.

“Excuse me?”

Baze pulled his head up from the counter and froze when he spotted the speaker. The man was shorter than Baze was, with short black hair and clouded blue eyes. He was wearing a letterman jacket with a JU patch stitched over the breast, over a garish bright red hound’s-tooth shirt. The pattern was enough to make Baze’s head spin. There was a large grey pouch on a strap around his chest. The man raised an eyebrow and he reached out with a cane and tapped the front of the counter. “Hello? I can hear you breathing over there.”

“Oh, uh, sorry,” Baze muttered out, standing up straight and swallowing. “Can I help you with something?”

A smile spreads over the man’s face the second Baze speaks, and there’s a light in those eyes that Baze is sure wasn’t there a moment before. “Is this Malbus Bakery?”

Baze’s brain stalled for a moment. It was not the first time he had been asked the question, but his response before had been a terse response to check the sign outside, but clearly that was not an option for this man. Baze had to fight against the instinct. “Yeah, it is.” Baze thought that he could say more, but as his mother liked to remind him, Baze was _practical_ when it came to his words.

“Wonderful!” The man moved closer to the counter, setting his hands on the top of the counter. “You wouldn’t happen to be Baze Malbus, would you?” The man leaned forward on the counter, resting his forearms on it and grinning in Baze’s general direction.

Baze blinked and shifted. He could feel the heat spread up through his face. The grin was too large, all gums and teeth, but Baze reluctantly admitted that it seemed to add to this man’s charm. This man who already knew who he was. Baze was sure if they had met before he would have remembered it. “That’s me,” he finally said, after a few moments to get his breathing in control. “I’m sorry, do I know you?”

The grin only grew, though Baze had been sure that was an impossibility until that moment. “Chirrut îmwe,” the man said proudly, lifting an arm and sticking it in front of him for Baze to shake. “We had art history together this term. You are not an easy man to find off campus, Mr. Malbus.”

Baze took Chirrut’s hand carefully, a little surprised by how firm Chirrut’s grip was. “I’m sorry, I don’t remember you in my class.”

“Well, I skipped a few of them,” Chirrut said. “I also sat in the back, near the exit. I hate getting trapped in crowds of people, I’m sure you understand.” Chirrut dropped his hand and put his forearms back on the counter, leaning on it with a comfort that Baze almost envied. “I remember you though. The second week of class you got in an argument with Dr. Ivenna.” Baze watched as Chirrut pulled his lower lip with his teeth before he quoted, “The mental illness of an artist is not the defining part of them, and if they had gotten help for their mental illnesses we would have more of their art, not less.” Chirrut’s grin was back. “Truly inspiring. I try to remember it in case I ever hear someone say otherwise.”

Baze felt his face flush and his only solace was that Chirrut could not see it. He cleared his throat and shook his head before he remembered that Chirrut could not see it. “Dr. Ivenna did not like me much after that class…”

“Oh?” Chirrut tilted his head, eyes seeming to look right at Baze’s left shoulder. “I have trouble believing anyone couldn’t like you.”

“Is there anything I can get you?” Baze changed topics with the grace of a bull in a china shop, but if that topic had continued Baze was sure he would burst under the overwhelming embarrassment.

Chirrut’s grin picked up on one corner before it softened into a smile. “Well, this is a bakery, right? I’m assuming you have baked goods.”

Baze snorted at that, and was about to apologize for his outburst when Chirrut let out a delighted laugh. Baze let himself smile before he sobered up. “Yes, we have baked goods… Is there anything in particular you’re looking for? Bread? Cake? Danish…?”

Chirrut lifted his free hand and he tapped on his chin for a moment. “Do you have anything with cinnamon in it? I’m feeling cinnamon today. Sweet with a touch of heat.”

Blood went everywhere except Baze’s brain at the way Chirrut said those words. They rolled off his tongue, lilting over the last word. Baze cleared his throat and he looked over at the case so he didn’t have to look at the handsome young man anymore. “Yeah, we do… do you-“

“Surprise me,” Chirrut said with a smile and he pushed off the counter easily, taking his cane in hand. “There are tables right?” He didn’t wait for Baze’s reply, walking over to one of the tables by the windows and sitting down in the chair.

Baze hesitated to watch him, watching as he pulled a white rectangle from the pouch and setting it on the table. Chirrut stretched his legs out comfortably, leaning back before placing his hands on the white rectangle and hitting a series of grey keys, making white dots appear on the band over the keys. Baze watched entranced for longer than he should before grabbing a plate and sliding a piece of his mama’s pumpkin spice cake on a plate. It was not Baze’s favorite, but everyone else seemed to love it. He didn’t have the heart to tell anyone that there was no real pumpkin in the bread.

He moved around the counter over to Chirrut’s table and he set the plate down. “Here you are…” he said quietly.

Chirrut grinned up at him, reaching over and touching the edge of the plate before he pulled it close. “Thank you! It smells delicious. How much do I owe you?”

“Shit,” Baze suddenly said, which caused Chirrut’s grin to momentarily disappear. “I was… I was supposed to charge you before you left the counter. My mom is really strict about that…”

“That’s alright,” Chirrut said, and his hand reached out, touching Baze’s hand and then sliding up to his forearm, patting it. “I’ll just pay now. How much?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Baze said, and he took a step back from the hand. “It was my mistake; I can pay for it.”

“Are you always this stubborn?” Chirrut asked with a grin before pulling out a wallet from his pocket and opening it, pulling out a bill and pushing it into Baze’s hand. “This should be enough, and if it’s more than enough you can use it towards my treat tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?” Baze asked, looking down at the bill in his hand and then back at Chirrut.

“Of course, you’re looking at your newest regular!” Chirrut laughed and then used his fingers to pick up a piece of the bread, popping into his mouth. “Oh wow this is amazing. My compliments to the baker.”

“I will let her know…” Baze said, and then went back to the counter in a hurry, putting the money in the register. He stood behind the counter and quietly watched as Chirrut continued to type on the device. He let out a breath before scrubbing his face.

Baze could not watch Chirrut after that. The lunch rush appeared soon afterwards, and next time Baze had a chance to check the table Chirrut was gone. Baze hoped that Chirrut was being honest about being a regular, and was also dreading it.


	2. Mint Tea

Baze’s hands were wrist deep in bread when his mama walked back into the kitchen. Her apron was covered in flour, and despite that she was still trying to wipe her hands on them. “Your boyfriend is here,” Baze’s mama said, wearing a wicked grin that made Baze blush. “He’s asking for you. I told him you were busy kneading the buns and he asked if you would be able to help him knead his. I like him.”

Baze let out a hot breath, gripped the dough in his hands, little pieces of dough coming out from between his fingers. “He’s not my boyfriend, Mama. He’s a fool.” He pushed down on the dough, the heels of his palms sliding deep enough to feel the rough texture of the board beneath them. “And of course you like him,” Baze muttered, pulling his hands back to fold the bread, going for another round of kneading.

His mama moved up next to him, leaning over to kiss his cheek and pat his shoulder. “Go out there and help him. I can handle the rolls.”

Baze let out a groan but he pulled his hands out of the thick dough, stomping towards the sink. “Mama, why can’t you handle it?” Baze asked, even as he was washing the stickiness from his hands. “I don’t even like him.” It was true, he did not. Chirrut was loud and obnoxious, had a way of taking over the entire shop no matter how many people were in it. It was infuriating. It was only made worse by the fact that Chirrut had been there every day that week, asking after Baze, finding out what days he was not working. Yes, Chirrut îmwe was infuriating.

“If it’s not you then he will not buy anything,” his mama answered, crossing her thick arms over her chest, her eyes narrowing as she looked at him. “Do you want your mothers to go out of business?”

Baze let out a huff, taking off his own apron and hanging it on the wall hook. “Mama, if losing Chirrut îmwe’s business is enough to bankrupt us, then we are off a lot worse than I thought.” He let out a breath and moved to the swinging door separating the kitchen from the front. He ignored his mama’s laughter as he pushed on through.

Chirrut was standing out the counter next to the case. His letterman jacket was gone, which Baze could almost be grateful for except now there was nothing to hide the garish shirt he was wearing. It was a teal button-up, covered in pink hibiscus and flamingos. The only thing that saved it was the fact that the short sleeves showed off his muscular arms. Not that Baze was thinking about Chirrut’s arms. Chirrut’s fingers were sliding over the patterns on the counter, dipping and lifting over the tile and grout. Once the door closed behind Baze, Chirrut’s head sprang up, and that easy bright smile spread over his face, showing too much of his upper gums. “Baze Malbus!” Chirrut called, not lifting his head or turn it to Baze. “I heard that you were hiding from me!” His tone was light with no heat in it.

“I was not hiding,” Baze muttered, walking over to the counter and putting his hands on the counter. Chirrut smile only grew and he pushed himself off the counter, hands sliding back to his cane. “What can I get you, Chirrut?” Baze asked. “Something with cinnamon again?”

“Mm…” Chirrut hummed, tilting his head a bit. “No, not today. Do you have things besides baked goods? Coffee? Tea maybe?”

“Yes, we have tea” Baze said instantly, turning and grabbing one of the mugs from behind him. Baze then paused. The one he had grabbed was smooth and white, perfectly plain and easy to get anywhere, easy to replace if one broke. Sitting next to it though was his mom’s favorite mug. His mama had picked it up for her on a whim, covered in polka dots that popped out from the body of the mug, each polka dot surrounded by words of love in different languages, and the handle was ridged. It must have found its way down from the apartment somehow. Baze set down the plain mug and picked up the textured mug, setting it on the counter. Chirrut did not need to know about the words surrounding the dots.

“What kind?” Chirrut asked, his seeking hands reaching out and touching the mug. His smile turned into delight when fingers found it, sliding over the differing textures of the mug.

Baze turned and he grabbed the tea stand, pulling it over and looking over the different teas. “Most every kind… my mom likes to collect tea… there’s mint, green, English breakfast…” he started reading, his voice trailing off a bit, feeling self-conscious under the weight of Chirrut’s bright and happy smile.

“I think I’ll have mint tea today,” Chirrut said brightly. “I will have to try all of the teas before the summer is over. Do you think I could get through your mother’s entire collection by then?”

Baze let out an affirmative grunt and then reached to take the mug from Chirrut’s hand, his fingers brushing against Chirrut’s. The smile on Chirrut’s face changed, the warmness of it turning into more of a heat. It made Baze’s blush return and he was ever glad Chirrut could not see it. He turned and poured in hot water and slid in the triangle tea bag from the box. He cleared his throat and set it in front of Chirrut’s hand, sliding it over until it tapped his hand. “Here… One fifty.”

“Aww, I don’t get it for free today?” Chirrut teased, but his hand pulled out a wallet and he flicked it open, pulling out two dollars and handing them both in Baze’s direction. “Is there a tip jar?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Baze answered, finishing the transaction through the cash register and pulling out the fifty cents in change. “Do you want me to put it in the tip jar for you?”

Chirrut scoffed at that, holding out his hand. “No! Of course not,” Chirrut’s words snapped in a way that Baze had not heard before, and it stunned Baze enough that he did not think before handing over the coins. Chirrut took them in hand and then felt out with his other. When his hand hit the tip jar, he grinned triumphantly and dropped the coins inside.

“I could have done that,” Baze said before he had a chance to think about it or stop himself.

“I know,” Chirrut said, and his hand found the hot mug of tea again, lifting it and sipping it gently. “But I did not want you to. It’s the principle of the thing.” He sipped his tea and let out a long breath, his triumphant grin softening on the corners. “Will you join me, Baze?”

“Join you?” No one had ever asked a question like that, Baze wondered for a moment what the joke was.

“For tea,” Chirrut said, as if it was perfectly normal for him to ask employees to sit and chat with him in dining establishments. After a moment Baze decided that it might be perfectly normal in Chirrut’s world.

Baze cleared his throat and shook his head before he remembered that Chirrut could not see it. “No, I um… I’m working.”

“It’s dead in here,” Chirrut pointed out, moving away from the counter and towards his usual table, cane sliding back and forth over the floor. “Come on, if someone comes in you can leave me for a customer!” Chirrut called over his shoulder before he sank into one of the chairs, folding up his cane and hanging it from the corner of the chair.

Baze let out a breath, reminding himself again that he did not even like Chirrut îmwe, but it was tempting. He had been awake since sunrise again thanks to his mom and it would be nice to finally have a break. He said nothing to give his assent though, going over and pulling the chair back, watching Chirrut as his grin grew again, and then he sat in the chair with a small huff. Baze leaned back in the chair, throwing an arm over the back of it, and looking over at Chirrut. He said nothing. His mama would smack him for being rude if she saw.

If Baze’s silence bothered Chirrut, he did not show it. His smile softened into a polite close-mouthed smile, but that was the only shift in his demeanor. “So,” he said, “what are you studying at college?”

“Philosophy,” Baze said, crossing his arms over his chest defensively. A lot of people in the past had given him a lot of crap for his decision, many jokes about there being no jobs for a philosopher, many people quoting ‘I think therefore I am’. It was tiring, and Baze felt justified in his defensiveness.

Chirrut’s reaction he did not predict though. “Oh wow,” Chirrut said, suddenly grinning again, unable to control himself. “I was thinking about being a philosophy major too! I’ve taken two philosophy classes now, and I’ve been enjoying them. My grandparents want me to take up a major like biology or chemistry, but then I ask them who’s going to hire a blind doctor!” Chirrut let out a laugh. “Not that I wouldn’t be an amazing doctor,” Chirrut said with that cheeky grin, “but I’m honestly not that interested in medicine. I’ve really enjoyed my philosophy classes though.”

Baze blinked under the onslaught of words, trying to follow the thread and his eyebrows came together when it came back to where it had started. “Oh… um… yeah. I really enjoyed them too.” Baze stopped there for a moment, thinking through his words before he said, “I really enjoyed that my professors wanted me to debate with them… that nothing was concrete, so many different philosophies meant that none of them was necessarily right or wrong, it depended on how you saw it.” Baze cleared his throat, cheeks flushing when he realized how much he had spoken. He shifted in the chair, listening to the legs scrape against the floor again.

Chirrut was still smiling though, leaning on his elbows on the table, waiting for Baze to continue. When Baze did not, Chirrut filled the silence effortlessly, “Well, then I do believe that philosophy was the right choice for me. I hope that we have more classes together, I would love to listen to you debate with more professors.” Chirrut’s thumb slid over the ridged handle of the mug before lifting it to his lips again. “What do you think you’ll do after school?”

“This,” Baze answered instantly. He cleared his throat. “I don’t… I don’t know why I’m at school sometimes, since I know I’ll just end up here. My moms are just so proud of me for going to school…” Baze swallowed down the sudden swell of emotions, the anxiety and pressure Baze put on himself. It was too much to handle. Chirrut seemed to sense this and he did not push the subject. “Why did you take Art History?” Baze asked when the silence stretched too far.

“You think blind people can’t enjoy art?” Chirrut asked, and before Baze could bluster out an apology, Chirrut laughed. “No no, you’re fine, I’m just messing with you.” Chirrut smiled brightly, and his hand reached out, patting Baze’s elbow. “Huh, you’re farther away than I thought,” Chirrut said, before getting back on subject, “I wasn’t planning on taking it, but I needed the units, and my friend was taking it. She was great, but she was too clinical.”

Baze’s eyebrows came together again, watching the man across from him as he withdrew his hand to take another sip of tea. “What do you mean by clinical?”

“Well,” Chirrut started, and then set the mug back down on the table. “Let’s do a test. Describe the bakery to me.”

“What?”

“Just humor me.”

Baze hummed and he looked around, thinking for a long moment, before he said, “It’s warm. It feels like home… it… has a lot of windows, so it’s bright… I don’t really know what you’re looking for here.”

“No, that was perfect,” Chirrut said, thumbs sliding over the handle of the mug again. “No, that’s the kind of description I like… It gives me a _feeling_ for what a place looks like, not necessarily the room’s specs, you know? I can find out myself that the space is thirty feet by forty feet, I can read in a book that a painting has four dogs and is eighteen feet tall… but that doesn’t tell me what that painting _is_. Sometimes, even, the feeling from _looking_ at a room is different than the feeling I get from a room. I like to know these things. So her descriptions often painted a picture for me, if you’ll excuse the pun, but a lot of it is useless to me if I don’t know what kind of meaning the painting gives.” Chirrut shrugged. “She is a good friend, I hate to criticize her like that, but I got more out of what a painting meant when you were debating with the professor than I got from her descriptions.”

Baze’s heart fluttered in his chest for a moment and he cleared his throat. “Well… I’m glad I could do that for you.” He opened his mouth to say something else, but the door opened and another customer came in. “I have to help this customer,” he said, not seeing Chirrut’s flash of disappointment or his nod as Baze went back to the counter to help the customer.

When the customer left, Baze did not go back to the table. A second customer was quick on the heels of the first one, and Baze helped the man pick out a nice cake for his anniversary. Baze’s eyes kept wandering back to Chirrut, watching as the man sat, listening to everything, sipping his tea. At one point Baze heard Chirrut pull out his phone and listen to a mechanical voice speak far too quickly for Baze’s ears to follow. Baze was getting ready to join Chirrut when another customer came in. Baze had to swallow the swear that wanted to escape his lips, and did his best to help the next customer. It was during that customer that Chirrut picked up his phone and left, calling a goodbye to Baze that Baze could not return because of the other customer.

Three or four more customers came in, and Baze was lost in the rush of work, finally moving to the table he and Chirrut had shared once everyone was gone. The textured mug sat on the table, now empty and cold, and it made a small part of Baze’s heart ache. He lifted the cup, brought it through the kitchen, washed it, and then returned it back to the rest of the bakery’s mugs.


	3. Banana Nut Bread

Chirrut was late. He was very late. Baze could not even call it late anymore, because he had not shown up in the bakery at all the day before, and it was past the lunch rush now. Baze of course was not worried, or at least he would not tell anyone he was worried. He reminded himself repeatedly that Chirrut probably had a life outside of the bakery, Baze had not scared him away, and that Chirrut was probably busy enjoying his summer. Chirrut had no reason to tell Baze when or if he would be leaving. Chirrut had no obligations to Baze.

Baze had to remind himself of this frequently because his not-worrying had already ruined three batches of muffins.

Baze was working on the fourth batch of muffins, inwardly cursing himself as he mixed up his fourth batch of muffin batter for the day. He poured the muffin mix into the tins and shoved them into the oven.

“Liz-sen?” Baze’s mom’s voice drifts down the stairs from the apartment, followed by soft footsteps going down them. His mom appeared around the edge of the door frame to the kitchen. Baze looked over at her, her eyebrows coming together in the middle, accentuating the wrinkles around her eyes and wrinkling her forehead. “Oh, Baze,” she said as she spotted him, giving him a tight smile. “Have you seen Mama?”

“She’s in the front,” Baze muttered to her. “Is everything alright, Mom?”

“Of course,” she said, waving her hand in his general direction before she moved for the door, almost getting smacked when the door swung in from the other side.

“Zylas!” Baze’s mama hissed, reaching over and touching her shoulder. “What have I told you about being on the other side of the door?”

Zylas rolled her eyes and she crossed her arms over her chest, biting her lip. “I’m not an idiot, Liz-sen, you don’t need to treat me like one.”

“I don’t…” Liz-sen let out a huff and she shook her head, putting her hands on either side of Zylas’ face. “Why did you come down, Zy?”

Baze shook his head and turned away from his moms, letting them have their moment. “Do you know where my mug is?” Zylas asked, and Baze stiffened under the words, looking over his shoulder again. She was holding up her hands, forming circles with her hands. “You know the one with the…” her voice trailed off.

“Polka dots?” Liz-sen asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah!” Zylas said brightly. “And the…” She stroked one finger with the other, running it over.

“Ridges on the handle?” Liz-sen finished for her, giving her a warm smile as she did. “No, I haven’t seen that mug, Zy, did you check the dishwasher?” Liz-sen grinned towards her, thumb sliding over her cheek. “That’s where you left it last time.”

“Liz-sen, this isn’t funny.” Baze could not see his mom’s face but he knew she was frowning, could hear it in her voice. “It’s my favorite mug, and I’m worried I left it somewhere, what if it’s at work? Someone might have stolen it from me, and then I will never see it again!”

“Mom,” Baze cut in, turning towards her again. “I know where the mug is. I’ll go get it for you.” Baze moved away from the prep counter and slid past his moms and into the front store, going and grabbing the mug from the collection of mugs and moving back, handing the mug to her quietly. “It must have gotten mixed up with the store mugs.”

Zylas let out a sigh and she took the mug, smiling brightly at Baze and leaning up to kiss his cheek. “Oh thank you, Baze, you truly are the best son I could ever hope for.” She turned and smiled brightly towards Liz-sen, giving her wife a soft kiss and moving back for the door. “I must have left it down here when I was working! I’ll let you two get back to work.”

“I’ll come bring you lunch later,” Liz-sen said, smiling towards her. The smile disappeared instantly when the door closed, and Baze was unprepared when his mama smacked him on the back of the head. “Why did you do that?” Liz-sen asked, her tone sounding tired. She moved back to the mixer and lifting up a bag of flour and putting it on the counter.

“What?” Baze asked, his jaw dropping in surprise, hand reaching up and rubbing the back of his head. “I was just helping Mom, is that suddenly a crime now?”

Liz-sen shook her head and she grabbed her measuring cup off the wall. “I had put that mug in with the other mugs so it could be _his_ mug. Mom would have forgotten about it after a few days.”

“I’m sorry your plan to manipulate Mom did not work out,” Baze muttered, crossing his arms across his chest. Sometimes he did not understand his Mama, who was kind in one moment and thoughtless in the next. He could see the realization on her face, see it in the way her shoulders sank and the way the weight of his words hit him.

“You’re right,” Liz-sen said after a moment, shaking her head. “I should have thought about that, but I hadn’t. She would have been fine though.” She finished tossing flour into the mixer before grabbing the other ingredients, spices and baking soda, sugar and eggs, milk and butter, pulling the flour off the counter and putting in the rest of the ingredients and shoving the mixer on. “How about I go out and buy a new mug, and then that can be Chirrut’s.”

“You’re getting very invested in this,” Baze pointed out, his arms not leaving his chest, watching his mama with a new sense of trepidation. “Why are you so insistent that something is going to happen between us? He’s just friendly.”

“Because I have seen something you haven’t,” Liz-sen answered easily.

“Oh yeah?” Baze scoffed. “What is that?”

“I’ve seen the way you look at him.” Liz-sen turned the mixer up to high, and the machine’s noise drowned out any response from Baze.

Baze’s jaw clenched and he leaned back, crossing his arms across his chest. He let the drone of the mixer fill the small metal kitchen, to reverberate and amplify, chasing away the thoughts in his head and taking over every corner in his mind. He let out a breath and looked over at the oven where his muffins were baking. He closed his eyes, taking in a few breathes. The scent of flour and cinnamon was in the air, barely masking the scent of bleach and cleaner. He focused on them, until a crystal-clear thought popped into his head. His mama was right. The acceptance also brought another thought: he was worried about Chirrut. He let out another huff. It was ridiculous to be worried, it had only been a day. There was nothing to worry about.

Baze jumped when his name was suddenly shouted over the noise, and he looked over to the source. Rohsaa, the teenager they had hired to work the front counter, had stuck her head through the door between the kitchen and the front counter. “Baze, there’s a customer asking for you!” she shouted before pulling her head back in and going back to the counter.

Baze was running behind her in a flash, and he felt a relieved smile spread across his face when he saw it was Chirrut. The smile faded away quickly when he saw the shirt Chirrut was wearing. “What the hell are you wearing?”

Chirrut’s head popped up when Baze spoke, and Baze felt his heart give a small squeeze when he realized he was once again the reason for that smile. It was truly unfair how bright and genuine Chirrut could smile. “I’m hoping clothes,” Chirrut said and then laughed. The hand not holding his cane reached down and plucked at the shirt. “If I remember correctly, this is the one with the pin ups on it, right? Scantily clad women showing off their… what was the word Kaya used… ‘Gams’?”

It was in fact, Baze could see, women of varying hues and a series of evocative poses over an eye watering red. Any affection and worry Baze had been feeling was suddenly gone in a heartbeat when he saw the shirt. “…Why?” Baze finally managed to get out. It seemed to be the only word that could properly express the emotions and thoughts in his head.

“It was a gift from a friend,” Chirrut said with a small shrug, his grin fading into a small smile. It did not seem to fit his face the same way the grin did despite being smaller. “It’s been sort of a tradition in my friends group.” He paused and then the smile stretched again. “Are you working right now?”

Baze blinked at the seeming nonsequitor, and he cleared his throat a bit. “I am, yeah… I’m baking in the back.”

“Well, are you getting a break soon?” Chirrut’s head tipped to the side, and Baze was suddenly struck with the image of a curious cat. “I came after the lunch rush this time,” Chirrut continued, his grin spreading over his face once more. He looked so proud of himself, like he had figured out some secret that Baze had not been privy to. “So I was hoping you would not be as busy.”

“I was not planning on…” Baze paused, watching as the grin faded again, and Baze quickly changed paths. “I can see if my Mama needs more help after I pull some muffins out of the oven. Can you give me ten minutes?”

“Of course!” Chirrut said, and with that he spun on his heel and walked towards his usual table. “I’ll just wait right here.”

Baze let out a breath as he watched Chirrut walk to the table before he turned and rushed through the kitchen door into the back, almost smacking his mama with the door. “What were you just telling Mom?” Baze grumbled as he closed the door behind him.

“This is different,” Liz-sen answered, rolling her eyes at her son. The kitchen was quieter now, the mixer sitting silently against the wall. Baze looked at the half mixed mixture and suspicion crawled up his chest. “Your mother was trying to find me, I was trying to eavesdrop.”

Baze rolled his eyes, going to the ovens and glancing inside to check on the muffins. They were still undercooked, so he would have to wait. “Well, at least you’re admitting to your wrong doing.” Baze held no heat in the statement though. His mama was nosy, but she was excited, and the fact that she had not gone out there herself to ask Chirrut out for him was quite an achievement for her.

Liz-sen smirked and then moved over to Baze, grabbing the side of his head and pulling him down so she could kiss the side of his head. “I promise I will not eavesdrop anymore today. You can go be with him, I will take care of the muffins.”

Baze shook his head and he pulled from her grasp. “No, it is alright, Mama. I’m going to bring one to him.” His mama snickered and he looked over at her, raising an eyebrow. “What?”

“Are you sure that is the message you want to be giving him, dumpling?” Liz-sen teased, and she grinned up at him. “Banana nut muffins?”

Baze rolled his eyes and he took a whole step away from her, crossing his arms over his chest. “Mama, only you would think something like that would be taken dirty. I’m sure Chirrut will not see it that way.” He then paused, remembering his last few interactions with Chirrut, and suddenly questioned his own words. His mama was gracious enough to not say anything about it. “Well… it’s what we have fresh… if he brings it up I will just explain that.”

“Of course,” Liz-sen said, patting her son’s shoulder and then going back to the mixer. “I’m sure that Chirrut will understand if you explain it like that.”

Baze let out a breath and he turned back to the oven. Anxiety slowly started to rise in chest. What if Chirrut did look too far into his bakery choice? Baze had not even considered that a choice of baked goods could be misconstrued as something else, but Chirrut did seem to have an active imagination when it came to the baked goods, hiding messages away with everything he ordered. Maybe that was what Chirrut wanted though, a secret message in baked goods. Baze was only now accepting that he even had feelings for the strange blind man who came in almost every day, is the message he sent with the muffin the one he even wanted to send?

Baze could not handle it anymore. He pushed himself off the prep counter, set the timer on the oven, and then he moved over to the dishwasher, turning on the sink and pushing his hands into the water to wash the filthy dishes, focusing on that so that his mind did not wander.

When he heard the timer go off he pulled his hands out of the water and he washed his hands before he moved to the oven and pulled out the pan of muffins. Unlike his first several batches of the day, this one had come out perfectly. He smiled when he saw the perfect little muffins and he set them on the counter to cool. He let himself wait a few more moments, pushing out any dark thoughts he was having. He pulled out a plate and he plated two of the muffins and smiled, taking in a breath of the sweet nutty aroma of the muffins. Baze crossed his arms over his chest before he considered what to do next, the muffins were too hot to put on plates yet, so he dashed to the back door, going up the stairs.

“Where are you going?” Lis-zen called from the kitchen, watching his retreating back.

“Just grabbing something from upstairs!” Baze called back, going up into the upstairs apartment. He opened the door and stepped inside, looking at his mom sitting at her desk, her reading glasses on as she sat over the piles of paperwork on her desk. “Mom?” Baze asked, crossing the living room and leaning down to kiss her cheek. “Do think I could borrow your tea pot?”

“Is it for that boy your mama won’t stop talking about?” Zylas asked, her voice sounding partly distant as she crossed out a line in the document in front of her, scribbling a replacement line in its place. Baze felt his cheeks warm up, his throat closing slightly. “I’ll take that as a yes,” Zylas said, finishing the replacement line and her eyes slid over the document again. “Of course you can, Bazey, just make sure to bring it back up.”

“Of course, Mom,” Baze muttered, taking a deep breath to try to control the blush before he moved over to the kitchen to grab the tea pot. He rushed back down the stairs to fill it with boiling water, grab a tea and put it in, before putting two of the fresh muffins on a plate and moving out of the kitchen, back to the main restaurant and moving to Chirrut’s table.

“That was twelve minutes,” Chirrut quipped as Baze carefully scraped the chair back with his foot. One of Chirrut’s eyebrows raised as Baze set down his bounty on the table. “I didn’t order anything…”

“I know,” Baze cut in quickly, clearing his throat a moment. “But these are fresh out of the oven, and I thought you might want to try this tea so just… it’s on the house.” Baze moved to sit down before he sprang back up. “Oh, shit, I forgot the cups, I’ll…” but Baze never finished his sentence, instead dashing to the counter and nudging Rohsaa out of the way to grab two cups from the back counter. Rohsaa gave him a smirk and a nudge back before turning back to cleaning the counter.

With the mugs in hand, Baze moved back to the table, sitting down and looking at Chirrut. Chirrut was sitting quietly, hands folded on the table with his head tilted slightly. The muffins sat untouched next to his hands. Baze set one of the mugs in front of Chirrut, and he reached for the tea pot to pour himself some tea. “Baze?” Chirrut asked, his fingers curling around the mug in front of him. “Is something wrong? You sound nervous.”

Baze paused for a moment, and watched as Chirrut pushed the mug forward and waited expectantly. Baze filled the mug with tea and Chirrut smiled his thanks, sipping the hot liquid. “I’m fine,” Baze said finally after a moment. “Where were you yesterday?” Baze had not meant to ask, but he also did not want to conversation to focus on him or the nervousness in his chest.

The smile on Chirrut’s face spread into a bright grin, though Baze was not sure why. “Oh, my friend was having a party yesterday, a belated end of the school year thing… it was fun.” Chirrut’s searching hands reached over towards the plate, touching the edge and then sliding over the bottom of one of the muffins. “What have you brought to eat?”

“Banana nut muffins,” Baze said in response. “I just made them, that’s what was taking me so long.”

“I love muffins,” Chirrut said, pulling one of them over to him and picking the muffin apart, popping small pieces into his mouth. “Thank you, this is very generous of you. It’s delicious.”

Baze was glad Chirrut could not see him, the blush spreading over him again. “You’re welcome…” Baze murmured and he sipped his tea. Silence fell between them. Baze was tempted to fill it, ask Chirrut more questions, get him talking again, but the silence was more comfortable than he would have expected, so he let it wash over him, calming the nervous fluttering in his chest, the strange thoughts in his head.

He was not surprised when Chirrut broke the silence. “You asked about my shirt,” Chirrut brought up, sipping his tea and setting it down. “They’re all part of an inside joke. I promise not all of my shirts look like this.” The last sentence was said quickly, words stumbling gently over themselves to get out. If Baze did not know better, he would say that Chirrut was now the one who was nervous. Baze dashed that thought away before it had even fully formed.

“You said it was a gift from a friend,” Baze said, his eyes trailing over the barely clothed women on the shirt. “I think you need better friends.”

Chirrut’s laugh was bright and loud, genuine and sounding briefly surprised. “I suppose I do!” Chirrut grinned brightly at that, and then he shook his head. “I like the shirts though, they’re very comfortable…” Chirrut put the final piece of muffin in his mouth. “I started losing my vision when I was four,” Chirrut said simply, and Baze raised an eyebrow. “I promise, it has to do with the shirts,” Chirrut said and he smiled over at Baze. “I could still see a lot of things though, up until I was sixteen. At that point I might have been able to tell you if there was a light on in the room. I was given a shirt that was, and I quote, ‘The ugliest shirt that has ever been made in this hemisphere’.” Chirrut’s smile split into the grin that made Baze’s heart twist. “Along with a note that said: the upside to being blind is you will never truly know how ugly this shirt is.” Chirrut was still grinning as he shrugged. “It made me laugh, and now it’s tradition.”

Baze raised an eyebrow at that and leaned back in his chair, sliding his fingers over the mug. “Well, I suppose that makes sense, but why would you want to wear ugly shirts?”

“As I said,” Chirrut said, smirking and finishing his tea. “I think they’re comfortable.”

Baze let out a laugh that was cut off when Chirrut’s hand reached out and touched the back of Baze’s hand. Baze swallowed hard as Chirrut’s fingers slid around his hand and tugged at his hand. “Here,” Chirrut said, “Feel the shirt, it’s really comfortable.” Baze let Chirrut’s hand guide him to one of the sleeves and rest there. Baze took a breath and he shifted his hand so that it was not over one of the half-naked figures.

“You’re right,” Baze said after a moment, enjoying the feeling of the soft fabric between his fingers. Chirrut was grinning at him, and the arm that Baze was almost touching flexed and Baze watched the muscles harden. Baze pulled his hand away, thinking of what to say when Chirrut interrupted his thoughts.

“You know, I believe this shirt would look better on your floor.”

Baze’s entire body froze at the words, his mind going completely blank. He sat helplessly as Chirrut’s grin softened and then slid into a frown. Chirrut’s hands tightened over the empty mug in his hands, and Chirrut forced on a smile. “Sorry,” Chirrut said, voice soft with an edge of something that Baze did not want to name, “I thought that… I must have misunderstood. Shall we pretend I didn’t say anything?”

“No,” Baze said, his mind catching up finally, and he reached over to touch Chirrut’s hand before slowly taking it. “No, no, please, you did not misunderstand. It was just surprising. I don’t get flirted with very often.”

“I doubt that,” Chirrut said, and the forced smile became more genuine. “Anyone would want to listen to your voice every day.”

Baze felt the blush suffuse him again and he let out a breath. “Well… thank you, I suppose. But…” Baze squeezed his hand. Baze quickly changed his mind with what he was going to say. “Do you want to go on a date? Tomorrow night, maybe?”

The grin brightened the room, filling Baze up. “I would love that,” Chirrut said, squeezing his hand. “I’ll come over tomorrow at closing.” Chirrut moved and he stood up from the table, unfolding his cane. “I have to go now, but I’m looking forward to tomorrow…”

Baze stood from the table quickly and he cleared his throat. “Yeah, tomorrow… I can’t wait either. I’m looking forward to it too…”

Chirrut smiled and he paused for a moment before he took three steps towards Baze, closing the space between them, leaning up and kissing his cheek. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Baze Malbus.” Chirrut smiled and turned, confidently walking out the door.

Baze let out a shuddering breath and he turned back to the kitchen, only to be met by his mama standing in the doorway, grinning and bouncing on the balls of her feet. He was never going to live this down.


	4. Pizza

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There was a delay on this one, but this is also the longest of the chapters, so I hope y'all like it!

Baze let out a huff as he tore off the shirt he had just slid on and threw it onto the bed. The pile of shirts waiting there was starting to get tall and rather precarious, and Baze was running out of shirts. He yanked open another drawer in his dresser as if the perfect shirt would just magically appear, but he was not as lucky as that. Baze let out a breath and then pulled open the previous drawer, seeing a shirt that said ‘Bakers Do It on the Counter’ and a blue button up that had a stain on it from the last time Baze wore it.

Baze did not know why he was so worried about what he wore on this date. He had been on plenty of dates in the last two years, and never had he been worried about his dates judging what he wore at them. If they did not like what he was wearing, so much so that it affected the date, then they were not people he wanted to be associated with. This felt different though, in a way he did not wholly understand and was a little afraid to.

Baze swallowed and he put his head on the dresser for a moment, taking a deep breath and closing his eyes. He did not hear the door to his room open and he did not know his mom had walked in until she cleared her throat. “Having trouble finding an outfit?” Zylas asked, sliding into the room and looking at the large pile of clothes. “You know that I’m not folding these for you, right?”

Baze shook his head, pulling out the blue button up and unbuttoning the buttons so he could put it on. “I’ll put them away after I get back, don’t worry.” Baze let out a breath and he pulled the shirt on, pausing when the buttons could not be pulled to the button holes. “Fuck,” he muttered, ripping it off and throwing it to the ground.

“I keep telling you you have too many clothes that don’t fit anymore,” Zylas said, moving over and lifting the shirt from the floor. She reached up, slowly patting his cheek. “Baze, why are you so worried about this?”

Baze blushed under her hand and he let out a breath, shaking his head. “I’m not… I just don’t have any good dating shirts.”

“Baze,” Zylas said quietly, and she patted his cheek a second time before she pulled her hand away. “You do remember that this boy you’re going on a date with is _blind_ , right?”

Baze let out a huff and he went to the pile of clothes, pulling out a red shirt he had tossed in earlier because it was too flashy. “I do…”

“And that when you last saw this boy he was wearing a shirt that was covered in half dressed women?”

Baze’s cheeks heated up at her words and he put on the red shirt, turning to the mirror and tugging on the collar so that it laid flat. “I do. I know I’m being ridiculous, Mom. He can’t see my shirts, there’s no reason for him to judge me, he won’t care if I wore a red shirt or a purple shirt or whatever but…” Baze let out a breath, taking the hem in his hands and tugging it down. “I’m thinking that maybe this isn’t about him… I think it’s about me.”

Zylas moved over to her son, reaching up and tugging on one of his braids. “Come here,” she said gently, her hand sliding to his arm and tugging on that to lead him to the bed. “Come here, I’ll brush your hair, and you can tell me what you mean.”

A reluctant sigh left Baze’s lips. He did not want to stop moving, not now when he was so close, but he moved over anyway and sat down on the bed, glancing at the pile of shirts as his mother went and grabbed his hair brush. He felt the bed dip with his mom’s added weight, and closed his eyes as the teeth of the brush slid through his wavy hair. “He’s so confident,” Baze finally said, relaxing as the soothing motion of the brush brought him back. “He’s handsome and confident, and I want to be as confident as that… I guess I’m thinking that if I wear the right outfit maybe I won’t embarrass myself. I won’t embarrass him.”

Zylas’s brushing stopped, and Baze felt a hand rest on his shoulder. “Baze, did we ever tell you the story of our first date?” Baze paused and then shook his head. “It’s a long story, but the general idea was… your mama asked me out for dinner… we set up a time and place to meet up… and I forgot.” Zylas let out a small laugh. “I didn’t mean to forget, but I was sitting at home, working on a paper, and all of a sudden it just hit me that I was supposed to be at the café.” Zylas laughed and her brush moved through Baze’s hair again. Baze raised an eyebrow and he looked over at her. “No, no talking, you’re not allowed to embarrass me about this.”

“Fine,” Baze said, and he turned his head forward. “Is there a point?”

“Yes,” Zylas said simply, setting the brush down and pulling over some of his hair, separating the strands and braiding them together and grabbing a cord to tie them up. “I absolutely forgot the date, I ran out of my dorm, got to the café right as she was leaving, and she forgave me. She forgave me, we set up another date, and we got married ten years later. With the worst date in the world, if it was meant to be, it won’t matter.” She moved to the other side and she started braiding the other side.

“Why are you and Mama so convinced that this will be something serious?” Baze asked, reaching up and tugging on the braid. “We’ve known each other for less than a week.”

“Because you look at each other the way Mama and I did when we were young.” Zylas paused. “Well, you look at him like that. He just acts like Mama did.” She smiled and she set down the second braid as she finished it up. “Try to let go of your anxiety, and just know it can’t be worse than my first date. Also, whether or not it is a good date will not be determined by the shirt you wear.”

“Mm,” Baze pushed himself off the bed, looking at the pile of shirts. “This is weird, I don’t think I’ve ever been this nervous for a date before.”

“That’s a good sign,” Zylas said with a grin. “It means you like him!”

Baze chuckled and he finally grabbed a white t-shirt from the pile, pulling it over his head. “What do you think? Maybe with a sweater?”

“I think you look like the most handsome man on the planet,” Zylas said with a bright grin. “But I think that that would be a great outfit.” She stood up, moving to the closet, and pulling out a red sweater from it, handing it over to Baze. “Here you go, this one is your softest one. Chirrut will appreciate it.”

Baze took the sweater from her and he slid it on, tugging on the sleeves. “You think so?”

“I know so,” Zylas said, reaching up and patting his cheek. “And remember, if you have sex tonight use protection, and also go to his place I don’t want to hear it.”

Baze turned scarlet in a heartbeat, and he reached up to scrub his cheeks. “Mom, please never talk about my sex life again… ever.”

“Mm, well, I’m going to bring it up one more time,” Zylas said, and she pulled out a string of condoms from her pocket, pressing it against Baze’s chest. “Remember, don’t keep these in your wallet, and always keep an eye on the expiration date.”

“Have I mentioned that I hate you?” Baze muttered, before folding up the string of condoms and tucking it into his pants pocket. He shook his head when his mom smiled brightly and kissed his cheek before she turned and walked out of his room to let him get finished.

Baze slid his fingers through the loose strands of hair before he turned to follow after her. “I’m going to go!” he called into the apartment, grabbing his keys.

“Oh! You’re leaving!” Liz-sen ran out of their kitchen and she moved over to Baze, cupping his face. “Do you have condoms?”

“You’re both awful,” Baze muttered, voice coming out distorted from his mama squishing his face. “Yes, I have condoms.”

“Do you need lube?” Liz-sen asked, looking into her son’s eyes.

“I don’t want to answer that,” Baze muttered and he pulled away. “Look, I don’t need lube, if I have sex tonight he’ll either have some or we won’t… do anything that requires it.”

“Lube can be used for a lot of different things,” Liz-sen pointed out, stepping back a moment. She let out a breath and she gave him a smile. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m embarrassing you.” She let out a breath and kissed his cheek. “I just want you to be safe.”

“I’ll be safe, Mama,” Baze muttered and he pulled her into a hug. “I love you, even if you’re embarrassing.”

“I love you too, Bazey.” Liz-sen pulled away and she picked up Baze’s phone, handing it over to him. “Have fun!”

“I will,” Baze answered before he opened the door and walked out, closing it behind him. In the quiet of the hallway he let out a breath that seemed to echo in the tight area. He leaned his head back, letting out the anxiety in his chest. “It will be alright,” Baze muttered to himself and he pushed himself off the door before taking the steep stairs down to the bakery.

He was surprised when he saw Chirrut waiting outside the bakery. He pulled out his phone and looked at the time to make sure he was not late, and he walked to the door, stepping outside and locking the door.

He let out a breath when he felt the cool air blew over him, brushing through the scent of cinnamon and baked goods that followed after Baze. “Am I late?” Baze asked, watching as Chirrut stood up and unfolded his cane, taking a few steps towards him.

Chirrut let out a bright laugh and Baze’s heart sped up. “No, no, you’re not late at all. I was early, the bus was faster than expected.” Chirrut grinned, tilting his head a bit. “I did not mind, I can be patient when I need to be, and this is certainly a moment that is worth waiting for.” One of Chirrut’s hands left his cane and came up to rest on Baze’s arm. “How was your day?”

Baze paused and watched as Chirrut’s arm tucked into his elbow. “It was good, I got to decorate the cupcakes today. I like to decorate the cupcakes.” Chirrut nudged into Baze’s arm and Baze took the hint, starting to walk down the street.

“Why?” Chirrut asked. Baze turned to look at Chirrut, trying to decide if Chirrut was going to make fun of him, or perhaps judge him, but Chirrut was just smiling pleasantly as they walked side by side.

“I just like to decorate things,” he said, shrugging the shoulder of the arm Chirrut was holding, in hopes that Chirrut would know what he was doing. “I like taking things that look plain and decorating them with frosting and candy… and then they look as beautiful as they taste.” Baze thought for a moment longer, and Chirrut seemed to sense that Baze wanted to say more, waiting patiently for Baze to continue. “Plus it’s tedious,” Baze continued and then let out a laugh. “When I say it like that it sounds boring but I like easy tedious things… it lets me turn off my brain, it’s meditative. And then suddenly it’s four hours later, my shift if almost over, and I get to go on a date with a handsome man.”

Chirrut let out a bright laugh and he shook his head. “I hope you’re talking about me! Or else this would be very embarrassing.” Chirrut squeezed the inside of Baze’s elbow and he nudged him with his hip. “Did you really decorate cupcakes for four hours?”

“No,” Baze rumbled out, looking forward again so that his poor heart could have a break. “No decorating only took me two hours. I spent the rest of the time deep cleaning the kitchen. Mama hates to do it so I do it for her when I can.”

“Well you’re a very good son, then,” Chirrut said with a grin. “Now, I have to ask, are we going anywhere in particular, or are you just leading a blind guy around the city for shits and giggles?”

“We’re going to a pizzeria… I hope you don’t mind…” Baze said and then he swallowed. “Now that I’m thinking of it, I don’t even know what the pizzeria is called. I’ve been there a few times but it’s just the pizzeria down the street and I don’t think I’ve ever really thought about it having a name other than that and now I’m rambling. I’ll just shut up.” Baze let out a huff, eyes staring resolutely at the sidewalk in front of him. He looked back at Chirrut as he squeezed Baze’s arm, his grin softened into a warm smile.

“I love pizza, it’s a great way to see if we’re compatible or not.” Chirrut grinned. “For instance, if you like pineapple on pizza or not.”

Baze hesitated, looking at Chirrut for a long moment. “I’m not sure which of those is supposed to be the correct answer. Am I supposed to like pineapple on my pizza or not like it for this to work?”

Chirrut’s grin grew, a feat Baze had been sure was impossible until a second before, and he shook his head. “If I told you that you would not be honest. Can’t have that!”

Baze let out a laugh and he shook his head. He supposed he would get his answers later. He stopped when they reached the restaurant and he reached over to open the door, letting Chirrut in before he walked in. He realized too late that once again he had not even bothered looking at the sign outside the door. Luckily, Baze noticed that the logo, a pizza with a slice missing from it, was painted on the inside of the door. “This place is called 562 Pizza,” Baze told Chirrut as he led him to the line. “Seems pretty unoriginal, naming a place after the address.”

“Well, not a lot of other people do that,” Chirrut pointed out, “so it seems original enough.” Chirrut’s grin softened into a smile, and pulled his cane back as it struck the heel of the person in front of them in the line. The person in front of them turned a glare over their shoulder towards Chirrut. Baze felt anger bloom in his chest and spread through him, but then the person thought better of it and turned back. Good, Baze thought to himself.

Baze let out a long breath and he released the tension from his body. “What’s wrong?” Chirrut asked from next to him. Baze looked at Chirrut and noticed the smile was gone.

The anger was quickly replaced by a desperate need to get it back. “Nothing,” Baze said simply. Chirrut’s lips pulled into a frown, eyebrows coming together. “Really, I can tell you later if you really want.” Baze hesitated but then set his hand on top of Chirrut’s in his elbow, smiling even though he knew Chirrut could not see it. Chirrut’s face softened, his lips losing their frown and the wrinkles in his forehead smoothing out. The smile was not back, not yet, but it did make Baze feel better.

“I don’t like liars,” Chirrut said.

“Good thing I’m not one then,” Baze answered, giving Chirrut’s hand a small squeezed. Chirrut chuckled and he shook his head. When they reached the counter, Baze let out a breath and looked over the menu. “Can I get a slice of sausage and mushrooms?”

When the teenager behind the counter confirmed, Baze turned to look at Chirrut who had a wide grin on his face. “I suppose that answers my question about the pineapples, Can I get a slice of Hawaiian pizza?”

Baze’s nose scrunched up, pulling his wallet from his pocket and paying the person behind the register. “I had been hoping that you were one of the sane ones who realized that fruit doesn’t belong on pizza,” Baze said as he took the plates with the pizzas on them, handing Chirrut the cups for their drinks, and walking away from the counter.

“You know tomatoes are a fruit, right?” Chirrut answered, his grin still large and bright on his face. Baze could feel his heart catching in his throat just looking at him. He looked away quickly before he walked them into a table.

“Tomatoes may technically be a fruit,” Baze said, shaking his head. “But I still wouldn’t put them in a fruit cobbler.”

“Why not?” Chirrut asked, pausing when Baze stopped at a table. He swiped his cane across the floor and then moved to one of the chairs, sitting down easily. “You never know, it might be good.”

“I think I’ll pass on that experiment.” Baze set down the pizzas. “Should I get your drink? Since you’re sitting and all?”

“I would love that.” Chirrut held up the cups for Baze. “Thank you for not assuming I can’t get my own drink.”

“That would be a weird assumption to make,” Baze said, but before Chirrut could respond, he asked, “what should I get you to drink?”

“Mm, surprise me,” Chirrut said, folding his hands and resting them on the table. “I’ll let the universe decide.”

“Just for that I’m mixing all of the sodas together.” Baze’s quip was rewarded with a bright laugh from Chirrut. Baze felt himself grin as he walked over to the soda fountain, letting out a breath. He got their drinks and he dashed back, sitting at the table and setting the cup in front of him. “There you go, your terrible concoction.”

Chirrut chuckled and he picked the cup up, taking a careful sip and then smiling when he realized that Baze had not, in fact, put all the sodas into one cup. “Thank you,” Chirrut said brightly and he put the cup down.

Chirrut lifted his slice of pizza and he took a bite. “Mm…” he said, licking his lips. “Are you sure you don’t want to try this?”

“I am sure,” Baze said, taking a bite of his own pizza. “You are a heathen. What could possibly be good about pineapple on pizza?”

“It adds a nice sweetness,” Chirrut answered easily, pausing to chew his pizza. “With the saltiness of the ham, the sweetness and the acid in the pineapple really compliment it. It also brings out the tomato flavor in the sauce.”

Baze shook his head and he finished his slice of pizza, wiping his hands on a napkin. “I’m glad you like it so much, I’m still going to pass.”

“You have no sense of adventure, Baze, I am disappointed in you.” The smile on Chirrut’s face told otherwise, and Baze had a sudden urge to lean across the table and kiss that smile. Baze kept himself back with some effort though. That was more difficult than Baze thought it would have been.

“Perhaps you can teach me,” Baze said, and then realized that Chirrut was no longer listening to him. “…Chirrut?” Baze asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Sorry,” Chirrut said, letting out a breath. “I got a little distracted… I was wondering what else we would be doing tonight… we just had dinner, what’s the next step?”

Baze swallowed when he realized exactly what Chirrut was asking. He could feel his heart hammering in his chest. He didn’t realize he had clammed up until Chirrut said, “Sorry.” Chirrut’s smile was back, though it was smaller than he had been before, a small sad twitch on the corner of his lip. “I tend to just ask whatever comes to mind, I didn’t mean to pressure you.”

“No no no,” Baze said quickly, and he flinched when his knees banged on the table. “No, sorry, sorry, I was just… it caught me off guard, you didn’t pressure me…” Baze reached over and his hand slid on top of Chirrut’s, smiling when Chirrut quickly turned his hand over and squeezed.

“Well, I’m glad to hear that… is there an answer, now that you have had a moment to think on it?” Chirrut’s face split into a grin that was quickly becoming familiar to Baze, gums and teeth and a crinkle around his eyes.

“Do you live near here?” Baze asked, trying to ignore the way his throat closed and the way his heart started hammering faster. He was sure it was becoming loud enough to hear from across the small table.

“I do, but I live with my grandparents,” Chirrut said, and his fingers gave Baze’s another squeeze, causing another jolt to go through Baze’s arm. “They’re unfortunately light sleepers, and they do not like being woken up.”

“If we go to my place we’ll be ridiculed relentlessly by my mothers.” Baze’s face heated when Chirrut let out a bright laugh at that. “I’m not joking, they would probably come knocking on the door, asking if we need anything, they’d probably start reading Wikipedia pages on how to best have sex…” Baze’s words did nothing to quell Chirrut’s laughter, which seemed to double in volume and force. “You can’t tell me you’d want that.”

“No!” Chirrut managed to get out between loud fits of laughter, drawing in breath to try to calm himself but the effort was futile. “No, no, we definitely don’t want that.” Baze stayed quiet as Chirrut tried to stop laughing, knowing that speaking would make it worse, no matter what he said. It was tempting to keep Chirrut laughing, to see how long he could manage, but this was more important than enjoying the laughter peeling out of Chirrut.

After a few moments Chirrut finally calmed, reaching up to wipe at his eyes which had become wet in his mirth, and Chirrut finished by taking a long, slow breath, which he released with equal slowness. He turned his head for a moment, and then said, “Well, there’s always the bakery. The kitchen in the back is private, right?”

A thousand and one health code violations flew through Baze’s head. He thought of how disastrous it would be to be caught having sex in the kitchen before blurting out, “we can’t have sex in the kitchen.”

There was a pause, and then Chirrut was caught up in another fit of laughter. “Oh no! Of course not! That would almost certainly not end well for anyone! But it would not be the end of the world to make out in the kitchen, would it?”

Baze took a steadying breath, his mind still caught on the idea of having sex in the kitchen. He shook his head against the thought, glad Chirrut could not see it, and then swallowed. “No, no, I don’t think that would be wrong… I’d still have to clean afterwards but…”

“Then let’s go.”

Baze was on his feet the second the words were out, tugging Chirrut’s hand before realizing how that may be taken. Before he could issue an apology, Chirrut was grinning again, his hand squeezing Baze’s, and he said quietly, “Well, I can’t say that I’m not excited too.” The words made Baze’s blood rush and Baze forced himself to clear his throat.

In a more controlled manner, Baze led Chirrut out of the pizza parlor, waiting a moment for Chirrut to unfold his cane and put his hand on Baze’s elbow before they were walking again. Silence fell between the two, but Baze felt no need to fill it, and Chirrut did not seem to either. It was comfortable. Baze smiled and stole a glance at Chirrut, his heart soaring when he saw the little smile on his lips.

“Are you staring at me?” Chirrut asked, causing Baze to jump and quickly look away.

“No,” Baze answered, clearing his throat and sensing more than seeing Chirrut’s grin. “…How could you tell?” Baze finally asked when he felt brave enough to look back at Chirrut.

“You were being very quiet, and you just walked me over several holes in the sidewalk.” Chirrut’s answer came easily, his grin never fading. “I would suspect your silence to mean concentration on where we were going, but then I suspected that perhaps I had caught your eye. There’s no need to be embarrassed, you are not the first to stare at me.” Chirrut gave a wink that Baze almost missed because Chirrut had his face forward, and Baze let out a laugh.

“I would figure you wouldn’t like being stared at,” Baze said simply and shrugged.

“I don’t usually notice, honestly, though when I do I don’t like it,” Chirrut said with a simple shrug, avoiding another pot hole in the sidewalk. “But I make exception when the person who’s staring at me is as handsome as yourself.”

Baze felt his cheeks heat up and he shook his head. “You’ve never even seen me.”

“I don’t need to.” Chirrut’s shoulder nudged into Baze’s arm. “I know your handsome with or without eyes.”

“I bet you say that to everyone.” Baze found himself muttering again, stopping in front of the bakery and pulling his arm away reluctantly to unlock the bakery’s front door.

“Oh yes, everyone I meet,” Chirrut said with his usual grin. “Good morning, Ma’am, lovely weather we’re having, did you know that you are quite handsome? And you have such a handsome umbrella as well!”

“Shut up,” Baze said, his voice coming out in a laugh and then pushing open the door, pulling Chirrut in behind him. Chirrut was grinning despite Baze’s words, and Baze shook his head and locked the bakery’s front door again. “Come on… kitchen’s in the back.”

“That’s where I was assuming it was,” Chirrut said and turned on his heel, heading for the back of the shop. Baze chuckled as he followed him, pausing when Chirrut stopped at the counter. He opened his mouth to speak, but was interrupted when Chirrut said, “I will let you know if I need help, Baze Malbus.” The tone was so different from Chirrut’s usual tone, nothing light and fun in it, but tight with heat behind the words. Baze watched as Chirrut stopped his search and take a deep breath. “Sorry, that was unfair of me.”

Baze moved over and he touched Chirrut’s shoulder gently. “Don’t worry about it, I’m sure you’ve got your reasons…”

“You’re far too understanding,” Chirrut muttered quietly and he touched the hand on his shoulder. “I just don’t like being coddled, and I got mad before I even gave you the chance to try to coddle me.”

Baze let out a small laugh at that, and then pulled at Chirrut’s shoulder, turning Chirrut around slowly so his back was to the counter. “Well then I won’t coddle you…” He nudged Chirrut’s cane away so he could have access, and rested his hands on Chirrut’s hips. His pulse was racing, and thoughts about whether this was a good idea or not were speeding with them. He pushed the thoughts to the side though, looking at Chirrut’s lips. Then he paused, stuck in the moment, stuck staring at Chirrut’s lips.

“You’re staring at me again,” Chirrut whispered, setting his cane against the counter and ignoring it when it slid to the side and clattered to the floor. His hands moved up, arms sliding around Baze’s neck and his fingers locked behind Baze’s neck. “I’ve been looking forward to this all month…”

“Well…” Baze’s voice came out in a whisper to match Chirrut’s. “Maybe I should draw this out then… make this moment last as long as it can…”

“Don’t you dare.” Baze grinned at the roughness of Chirrut’s voice, at the small growl at the end. It was difficult to say no to that though, when Chirrut was right there, the space between them slowly diminishing, and Baze wanted it to, needed to know what kissing Chirrut Îmwe was like. He leaned down and their lips touched, sealing them together in a searing kiss.

Chirrut leaned up to meet him, fingers burying themselves into Baze’s hair and tightening around the back of Baze’s head. He let out air through his nose as he deepened the kiss, nipping at Baze’s bottom lip and pressing more firmly against him.

The kiss was warm and light, replacing all the anxiety and fear in Baze’s chest with love and excitement. When Chirrut moved, Baze followed, keeping the kiss going for as long as either of them could stand, until they finally broke for air, Chirrut moving his other hand to Baze’s shoulder to signal the end. Chirrut let out a breath before gulping in air, the hand on Baze’s shoulder sliding over the soft material of the sweater. Baze watched as Chirrut swallowed, and then Chirrut said, “This is a very soft sweater.”

Baze let out a laugh at that, pulling Chirrut’s head closer and kissing him softly. “Thank you,” Baze murmured against his lips, resting his forehead against Chirrut’s. “…We never made it to the kitchen you know…”

“Mm, is this not the kitchen?” Chirrut asked, the corners of his lips twitching upwards. “I could have sworn it was…” Chirrut began grinning as Baze laughed. Chirrut raised a hand, finding Baze’s cheek, before turning him and pulling him back in for another kiss. It was not as searing or life changing as the first had been, but it was beautiful and perfect in its own way. Baze returned the kiss happily.

Chirrut let out a hum and he dropped his hand from Baze’s cheek, landing back on Baze’s shoulder. “Should we move to the kitchen, I’m kind of comfortable here.”

“We don’t have to,” Baze murmured, his own hand sliding over Chirrut’s side, fingers ghosting over muscles Baze now desperately wanted to see. “But someone might see us here.”

“I have a rule,” Chirrut said simply, his fingers digging into the soft material of the sweater. “I am not bothered by people seeing me, as long as I cannot see them.”

Baze let out another laugh, leaning down for another quick kiss. “Then I guess we can stay here then…” He kissed Chirrut deeply and pressed him against the counter as he did, relishing the surprised gasp that escaped Chirrut.

They continued like that for a time that felt both like an eternity and no time at all. They only stopped from breath, and then finally stopped for good when Chirrut’s phone started ringing. As they broke, Chirrut sighed and pulled out his phone, tapping on the screen, and the phone chiming in with, “Stop Alarm,” before the alarm stopped.

“I have to go,” Chirrut said quietly, reaching over and touching Baze’s neck, fingers sliding along the slopes and angles. “I promised I would not be out all night, and if I don’t leave soon I will be.”

Baze nodded, thought he did not really understand. Did not understand or did not want to understand. Baze’s hands slid around Chirrut’s waist again and he gave him a gentle squeeze. “Will I see you tomorrow?” Baze murmured before planting a small kiss on Chirrut’s cheek, feeling Chirrut grin again.

“Of course,” Chirrut said simply. “You’re going to have to physically stop be if you don’t want me to.” Chirrut tilted his head until their lips caught again, and slowly Chirrut pulled away. “I’m guessing we won’t be able to lean on the counter and make out as long as we wanted tomorrow though, huh?”

“No,” Baze said, reluctantly letting Chirrut go. “No, that won’t be possible tomorrow.”

“Damn,” Chirrut said, his foot hitting his cane. Chirrut leaned down to pick it back up and he reached over, patting Baze’s arm. “I suppose I will have to stay until after closing tomorrow, a shame, getting to spend all day in this café.” Chirrut grinned and tapped the ground with his cane before swiping it in front of him. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Good night, Chirrut,” Baze said as he watched Chirrut leave, swallowing hard and leaning on the counter with his elbows. He waited until Chirrut was out of sight before he pushed himself up and headed for the upstairs apartment, already counting the minutes until tomorrow came.

**Author's Note:**

> Come talk to me at [ShipArmada](shiparmada.tumblr.com) whenever you want to talk!


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